Monday, December 3, 2012

Black Soul

Usually when a bad mood hits me I also have a self-destructive illusion of getting piercings and dyeing my hair as well, but since confessing all these little dreams that play out in my head to my boyfriend it’s not such a taboo subject anymore and I’m therefore more inclined to be normal? I don’t know. These piercings also seem to be very serious and immersed in the culture of skinheads to get a bar placed between one’s nose bridge, but I have previously been fascinated with the bull ring piercing. Pierced jewelry just seems to be so entirely different from clothing though- you can’t try it on beforehand to work out whether it suits you and it’s a semi-permanent forever thing that lasts with a certain hanging omnipresence in all aspects of life. That all seems scary to a girl who only has her first set of ear piercings done and promised her mother that she wouldn’t get anymore after that. Also, if you think my fear is unfounded then you haven’t met my other in a tizzy. 


You know how some people are described as having an old soul with wisdom beyond their age and maturity? I’ve decided I have a black soul because for the moment nothing gives me pleasure, my stomach feels like a black hole right now and I just want to be left alone with my thoughts for like a month and solidly dedicate myself to knitting as well as the life of a hermit. Not many people would consider the Internet to be a fulfilling interaction with the community anyway so blogging could still be an almost-secular activity under this new found regime of angst, hatred and disgust at the weather. I’ve taken to complaining about the heat and temperature a lot as well lately so I must have a combination of a small, shriveled prune for a heart and something black like coal. This is about the time I make a quip and invite a line of male suitors to form because I’m obviously a choice female for receiving a husband at the moment. 




It’s not so much that I don’t like black jelly beans, it’s the fact that I do not like black liquorice and tend to curse it’s inventor whenever someone buys liquorice bullets in my home because all I want is the chocolate that surrounds them. They almost look like small polished black gems ripe to be picked by a witch performing a monthly spell or ready to dance to the full moon naked so it deserves a place within this collage as well. You are what you eat after all; and if that truly is the case then pay no attention to the three servings of dessert I had for my father’s birthday dinner last night and replace all that with ravens, tar and the deepest chocolate pudding ever to grace the Earth. Then that would explain my sour behavior, my general feeling of detest and dread. I'm not going to miss an opportunity to feed this sick and twisted feeling though, I appropriately borrowed Marry Shelley's Frankenstein from my local library to sit and stew with until I at last see light at the end of the tunnel.



Running away is often the best fantasy when trapped in the ordinary or unpleasurable, but when your own body is being a trifle difficult and you seem to ache then I don’t even know what can be prescribed in terms of mental exercises. Some days when I was younger I’d like to imagine myself riding a Pegasus, but that rarely involved futuristic Zena warrior-princess armor or a midnight blue sword. I wish I had now since that would have at least made for an inevitable comic or children’s picture book of interest to a psychologist specializing in the condition of today’s youths. People like that feeling of being special and cherished which I seem to mix up with the occult resulting in a longing to be a science experiment and studied by men with beards and white coats. 



I really admire this tattoo because it has make-up around the eyes reminiscent of rock group Kiss but is also a caricature of that constantly frowning cat on the Internet with an inverted cross and appropriate captioned banner. I suspect this was done on a guy just because of the little hairs on whatever limb this is looking red, prickly and sore like a dying space cactus which will then grow again like a triumphant phoenix. There’s a nice dedication there if that is the case, but I would have to track down however did own this if they were a woman and personally congratulate them on wearing their bad-ass attitude on their sleeve, as it were. Society still carries that damn stigma that men are most usually the brooding ones with tattoos of this level of hot cynicism but I suppose that just makes it even more spectacular when a member of the universal sisterhood does get something as sweet and nasty as this feline anti-Christ permanently inked on their body. 


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